Entering the Valley of Flowers |
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Another path where feet obey,
another way of slate and lime, a winding track from yesterday, a quickstep walk to sunrise time. The circling of a bird of prey and tail-less rats on grey moraine that hope to keep their fur today; a gasp of air when feet complain. The Pushpawati River's spray, each footbridge step -- a crunch, a sound byte. Approach the flower pass today and step across into the light. (from Foreign Madam and the White Yogi, a verse novel in progress) |